Fixing Me
by ToxicSoap04
Summary: AU; She managed to save him...it was a miracle, one she was glad of...she had too many deaths on her shoulders, too many lives lost and all she wanted to do was heal. He was glad he didn't die...sure he had accepted it from the first near death experience but...he was too young with so much still left to do and he would forever protect her for what she did for him. SoapxOC
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CALL OF DUTY, NOR DO I OWN JOHN MACTAVISH IF I DID HE WOULDN'T HAVE DIE NEITHER WOULD HAVE ROACH NOR GHOST AND GENERAL SHEPARD WOULD HAVE BEEN KILLED IN THE MOST PAINFUL WAY POSSIBLE! I do own Charlotte though...since she is me ...and all :)**

I don't know if i'll continue it or not; if you want me to please tell me and i'll most likely keep writing if people like it :)

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She stood over him, hands moving over his body frantically. The red just wouldn't stop pouring out but he was still conscious and alive that's all she asked for...that she didn't lose another one. Too many had died while she tried to save them and she didn't want another to add to the long list of failures...tremendous failures...

"Come on, Captain! Stay awake!" She didn't even know this man...but she knew he was heroic and she knew that she wasn't going to let the big burly Scot die, after all she was English and if there was one trait she inherited from her family it was stubbornness.

"...ugh, after uh...this can I take ye to dinner?" She looked up for a second, her hazel eyes met his bright blue eyes and she could see the will to live there...pulsing, throbbing rapidly, never ceasing.

"You live and you can take me to dinner as many times as you like!" She gave him a quick smile before calling for my bandages and an I.V...He had fallen a long way...he had broken ribs and caused lacerations to his back and torso.

When he came in not 10 minutes ago she had been napping in a chair after a long day helping as many people as she could. It hadn't taken long for the brown curly haired girl to get her medical head on and start fixing up his back and now she was trying her hardest to stop the rest of the bleeding, keep him hydrated and alive.

She had stood over so many men...all of them thought it was good to die a hero...to die for their country, she disagreed it was better to live for your country, to return to your wife and children with stories of laughter and brotherhood. She'd rather have them fight for their life till the end than resign themselves to death...to the death of a hero...a death where they'd be forgotten eventually. She just wanted the world to be free of unnecessary deaths. She went into this job to save people, to help people...and even after 6 years...even at the age of 26 she still couldn't get over the amount of death and pain. It still haunted her.

She finished placing the last stitches, wrapping the last bandages and giving the last ounce of medication. He fell into a slumber and she let out a sigh of relief. Her hands were stained red but she had stabilised him. He was no longer bleeding, his ribs were wrapped and he was sleeping peacefully in the starch white hospital bed. She walked to the sink not 2 feet away and began scrubbing her hands and arms trying to rid herself of the blood...the thing that keeps everyone going; something that was so important, but so forgotten.

Her hands soon turned red raw from the scrapping harsh treatment she dealt them and she looked in the mirror above the sink and didn't recognise the girl staring back at her...still the same chubby, short body but...her hazel eyes had little life and rested near dark circles. Her hair was lifeless and the curls fell like wilted petals against her paling skin...she always had darker skin but she spent so much time indoors away from others...away from the guilt that now she looked like a corpse the only thing missing was the malnutrition but she always did like being a bigger girl...she liked that she couldn't see her ribs or the veins that kept her alive...she felt like that would be more of a taunt than anything else.

A lone, long awaited tear fell down her cheek and she brushed it away and sat back in the chair besides the man. She only knew his name and rank, Captain John Mactavish. He was handsome; now that she wasn't worried about his death she could see that. He had a mohawk which she never thought would be attractive, tan skin and a strong build. He'd probably be a lot taller than her 5ft. 2 self but that was a trivial thought...she always had such silly thoughts before going to sleep in hope that it would be one of the nights where the faces didn't haunt her and the cries of 'mother' didn't follow her. She drifted off slowly, her muscles relaxing as she slumped ungracefully into the chair her head tilted backwards and her knees up. Maybe tonight she'd find peace.

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**What did you think? please review, I don't mind contructive critisism but please nothing mean :) **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Call of Duty or Soap...If I did he would have never died. I am making NO money from writing this, it is purely for entertainment purposes and not made to harm the Call of Duty franchise in anyway.**

Thank you: Ciriajacobs, Sheity Williams, Ekendall1216, and Ark1999; for all your reviews, favourites and follows :)

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She felt hands grip her arms and shake her gently, a panicked voice calling her name somewhere far away…or at least it seemed distant. More shaking pulled her from sleep and she stared at the medic in front of her with tired eyes. He was new, only a private but he was getting there on the skill front. He appeared panicked; that of course worried Charlotte. It usually meant someone was in trouble and needed help…it usually meant someone had something dreadfully wrong with them that she couldn't stop. How many times had she been awoken to see a scared private above her? A private who had hardly any experience in the theatre of war…she remembered when she was like that, the horror and the fear that encapsulates you until…until you grow numb and no longer panic, you just do your job to the best of your ability. You still care but you don't fear the blood or the dismemberment anymore because it almost, as horrid as it is, seems normal.

"What's wrong, McGill?" She forced herself to her feet and stretched; her back clicking loudly as it rearranged itself. The infirmary was as horrid as ever; dirt tiles and pale, peeling walls. Captain Mactavish slept calmly in his bed machines monitoring his heartbeat with that monotone beep that resounded loudly around the room.

"We've got another and he won't listen! He's going to cause himself more damage! But…I-I just can't seem to calm him down!" McGill spoke so fast that if one wasn't use to hearing such panicked speech they wouldn't catch a word that was being said. Luckily such speech had become second nature to hear for Charlotte.

"Alright, Show me." Her tone of voice was hard; she could go from gentle and encouraging to emotionless in a split second and it wasn't something she enjoyed about herself. Years before she wouldn't have been able to detach herself so easily, years ago she was so sensitive and timid it was a wonder she even decided to join the army; Her parents were certainly surprised.

She remember that day all too clearly; she had gone and signed up…she had enlisted, they had told her to get her stuff and be at the barracks in Gosport the next morning by 0800, it didn't give her much time to say goodbye. She had sat her mother and father down at the dinner table, an uncomfortable silence had fallen. Robert and Jane Kite both wanted to know why their daughter was acting so strange and why she wanted to talk to them so urgently. She had never really talked to her parents about things as she grew up…she was an introvert and spent most of her time in her room drawing or reading.

She had told them in a surprisingly blunt way; 'Father, Mother; I've joined the Army'. Her mother had begged her not to go, saying she didn't want her little girl to get hurt, that the Army was no place for a women. It wasn't that her mother was living in times gone by but that in her eyes Charlotte was still very much a delicate 5 year old. It didn't help that Charlotte was short for a women or that she had never been that athletic and sporty…or that she was overweight. All these things added together made her mother beg and beg and beg.

Her father was a different story entirely. He had been a Navy man and Charlotte feared he'd be angry with her; after all as she grew up if she ever did something slightly wrong he'd yell and yell and yell. It wasn't that he was a bad person but he was so use to that form of discipline that he knew no other. She was wrong though, he hadn't been angry he'd joked about her betraying the side because she didn't join the Royal Navy. He had taken her in his arms and told her he was proud of her and that he knew she would do well. He had even persuaded her mother to calm down and spend what little time they had left in harmony rather than in chaos. It was both a fond and an unpleasant memory. The look in her mother's eyes had always haunted her. It was one of sorrow and fear…she understood that her mother feared she wouldn't return; but it had been years since her first tour and she still lived, at 26 years of age she was still kicking.

She followed McGill across the room and through a doorway. The next room was just like the one before dirtied tiles and peeling walls; metal frame beds lined up against the walls, most of which were empty apart for the bed at the end of the room. In that bed laid a squirming shouting man. If the sight of him wasn't heartbreaking then his cries and pleas to not let him die were.

She walked calmly to his side and watched him still for a second as he noticed the new person to join the many surrounding him; she gave the brown eyed male a reassuring smile and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. Her touch seemed to instantly calm the young man. It wasn't that she was perfect or special in anyway but after years of calming soldier after soldier, one tends to gain the ability to give of an air of tranquillity…the ability to calm a man by a simple touch. The touch of a woman was an extraordinary thing, a special gentleness that resided only in small kind hands.

"Shh…it's alright, Lad…it's alright…you're going to be alright" as those words left her mouth, a fellow medic of hers by the name of Smith began to work on the man. The young lad had stopped fighting as she spoke and left his gaze on her; his eyes were wide and like child's…staring, wanting, hoping that her words were truth and not merely there to give false hope.

Her fingers stroked reassuring patterns on his skin like a mother does to a child who has a nightmare that just won't leave. A quite fell over the room and as Smith tied the last pure white bandage around the boy's midsection, her hand fell from his face and his eyes closed and his breath evened…he would live for another day; but she feared the morning would bring sorrow and loss to the infirmary…she feared that she'd be the one to pull the white sheets over his stone cold body and move the bed out of the room and away from the other wounded.

"Smith…Keep a close eye on him…I don't know how long he'll last..." a sigh escaped her mouth and a hand moved beneath her glasses and rubbed her eyes in exasperation; you always had  
those who'd live and those who'd die, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with, to see, or to hear.

"Sure thing Ma'am…I'll watch 'im like a 'awk" A smile graced her face for the briefest moment; she liked Smith, he was a nice man…older than her by 20 years but none the less a good and faithful companion.

Her feet took her back through the doorway and into the room which held Captain Mactavish; he moved jerkily in his sleep but his breathing seemed normal…she had seen it once before. He was relieving the memories in his sleep… she herself did it on multiple occasions but usually the soldiers pushed the thoughts out of their minds and into some distance recess that can't be reached.

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**I hope you liked: Please Review, Favourite and Follow thank you :) xxx**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Call of Duty, the characters or anything owned by the franchise. I am NOT making money from writing this fanfic it's for entertainment purposed only. The only things I do own are the characters you don't recognise i.e. Charlotte. **

**Sorry for how long it's taken me to upload, it probably won't get anymore often either as from September 4th i'll be starting my exam year of school and will be busy with that and stuff, so yeah, sorry!**

**Thank you for all the reviews, favourites, follows etc. they've inspired me to write even with my busy schedule so thank you!**

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Her gaze had stayed on him all night...no matter how weary her body was it refused to shut down. Perhaps it was the high levels of stress she was under? Perhaps it was her need to keep an eye on the few patients that she had? In truth the reason behind her insomnia mattered little to her, she didn't want to diagnose herself, she didn't want to write the long list of ailments that afflicted her…to see them all written out would surely do no good and it would be much more beneficial to merely find practical ways to overcome such obstacles whether that be to watch a certain blue eyed Captain sleep or to write letters to family…albeit letters that thinly disguised the true extent of damage her heart and soul had taken over the years of service she had done…she'd do whatever kept her mind off of the din ringing in her ears that resembled gunfire and banging bombs all too much.

He had been calm all through the night, all through the day….he hadn't woken not even once but there were slight changes to his body language that she knew all too well; a wrist going out to grip where a knife would usually be, a furrowing of the brows, a slight lurch of the body…nothing too chaotic but enough to let her know what was going on in his mind at least to a minor extent….whether she wanted that insight or not.

He was remembering or perhaps he was having nightmares caused by those memories…either way as calm as he managed to stay overall it wasn't a good sleep from what she could tell…she was all too familiar with the bane that struck when one closed their eyes and left the land of the conscious…all too familiar…She kept hearing mumbles from him… 'Price' was often mentioned…she did know who Captain Price was; he had visited once or twice during the time that Capt. Mactavish was in her care. He was worried everytime, but unlike most he didn't take his frustrations out on her…it was something she was glad of, as much as she could understand their frustrations she didn't find it anymore settling to have a soldier yell and shout at her to do something…she wasn't God, she had only a small amount of sway over any situation…she couldn't save them all, no matter how hard she tried.

She could only assume that both men were very good friends…that scared her, the amount of soldiers admitted into her care whose best friend came along was substantial and everytime one of those soldiers dies…she can see a little piece of their friend die with them. It was, despite what some might say, worse than when family lost a son, father, husband…because those soldiers had fought together for so long and with such vigour…ask any and they'll say that at some point they felt like brothers…they felt invincible and the reality that they weren't would come crashing down harshly like the gavel of a stoic judge overlooking a court of puppets.

Her eyes drifted slowly closed until uneven breath and the quickening of those ever present beeps caused her eyes to snap open harshly like the slamming of a car door. She stood quickly, bare feet against cold tiles on unsteady legs, overlooking the scene and the man before her and felt her heart crash to the pit of her stomach as if it had suddenly turned to lead, she hadn't expected him to go into sudden cardiac arrest…she had thought that was the least of her worries…

Her hazel eyes snapped to the machine monitoring his heart and looked at the quivering lines indicating his heartbeat, it was good sign and her relief was present. There were two types of cardiac arrest…Shockable and non-shockable…and this was the former…to be more specific ventricular fibrillation or in layman's terms the uncoordinated contractions in the cardiac muscle in the ventricle.

Her feet ran across the room and her hands pushed aside bandages, metal dishes and unopened needles, cursing the mess that was her infirmary before hands grasped the needed apparatus…a defibrillator. She rushed back to his side, resting the defibrillator on his bed before pulling off bandages, bed sheets and his shirt to give access to his chest and as if it were something she had done a million times (which it very well could have been) she placed the paddles to his chest and set the charge…she hoped, oh she hoped her instincts were correct…she hoped this would help…she hoped all those years of experience and pain wouldn't fail her now at the last hurdle.

1, 2,3, shock…nothing but the jerk of his body and a sound thump as it returned to the bed, a heavy weight…an almost dead weight…1,2,3, shock…jerking body and sounding thump nothing more, a curse falling from chapped, cracked lips and again 1,2,3, shock…a jerk but a beep…beep…beep from the monitor. Pushing the defibrillator to the side, she rushed to a draw and all but wrenched it from its designated hold to grab an unopened syringe filled with Epinephrine…or more commonly known as adrenaline and returned to his unstable but breathing body to administer the drug that would help regulate his heart beat…

With shaking hands she did so, she was calmer than before when she first jerked awake to the sound of his health deteriorating but…she would only feel completely calm when he was up and walking about without any repercussions from his cardiac arrest…when she could safely say he'd be fine…when she was sure no lasting damage to his neurological functions had taken place…when she could cry in relief and have him complain like so many others about the slop they called food in the cafeteria…when she could hear that distinct Scottish brogue calling to her for whatever reason.

The tremors in her hands calmed and she threw the needle away and cleaned up the mess she made before pulling the starched white sheet back up his body and resting in her chair again shivering from the cool night air circulating the dim room but not finding it in herself to move or sleep…it wasn't wise given her job but it was part of who she was. She felt better watching John Mactavish rest, hearing the steady rhythmic beeps and seeing the rise and fall of his broad chest….she felt better that way.

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**So what did you guys think of the first chapter in a while? let me know :)**


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